


Facing Your Demons

by TheRealhero



Series: From Stage To End [2]
Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Band Fic, Confessions, Discovery, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gay, Gay Male Character, Gen, Homosexuality, M/M, Male Friendship, Male Homosexuality, Memories, Multi, Realization, Sexuality, Sexuality Crisis, admittance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-10
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-23 01:43:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/920521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRealhero/pseuds/TheRealhero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendon recalls a time that Dallon would rather forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Facing Your Demons

**Author's Note:**

> I posted the wrong chapter before! It's right now!

The room behind the stage that they were given was loud, a mess, and filled with bodies that made the temperature so high it was almost unbearable. But there wasn’t a single complaint to be found among those who occupied the space. In fact, there was nothing but laughter and smiles’ covering it’s every inch. This was almost the best part of each show. The high that could be ridden out for hours, even without the added effects of drugs or drinks. It was like a natural buzz, one you just couldn’t get from anything else in the world. 

Brendon Urie loved it. He dropped down onto the long, beat up leather sofa that was shoved into the small space. His sweat soaked skin slid on it, making him end up in a lounging position rather than the sitting one he’d started in. But he didn’t give a damn. It was comfortable and his body was so strung out that anything was better than standing right then. Spencer sat himself down at the other end, his long brown hair a mess around his face. There was a million dollar smile on though; one that always sent Brendon back into those stupid days of them being teenagers. No one smiled like Spencer smith. 

Ian was at the other end of the room, using a towel to keep his wild mane of hair away from his red flushed face. He was shirtless, just like the singer. His back was curved back, arched in a way that, as it had a lot lately, had Brendon eyeing him. Of course this little moment of his was short lived as their bassist strolled in. Dallon Weekes was 6’3 and built to match the height. On stage, Brendon teased and played games with him that made the fans go crazy. Those games were fun for everyone involved, even if they got Brendon hard half way through the show. But Dallon never made the connection and this presented problems for Brendon on a very regular basis.

The bassist walked over. Ignoring Spencer, he crawled onto the sofa, laying himself heavy over top of Brendon. His stomach covered the singer’s waist, forcing an agitated yelp to pass his wide lips. “Dallon jesus…” he muttered but it was more good natured than annoyed. The older man pressed his face into Brendon’s neck and muttered. “So tired B…” was all that was understandable from the mess of words he’d spilled out. Unable to move much, Brendon heard Spencer grumble before he escaped their sweaty couch pile. “So gay.” He’d said but a laugh followed soon after, assuring Brendon that his best friend was only picking on them. These days, he worried about himself. 

This was how their evenings usually went after a show. A few moments of down time, collecting themselves in private. Then there were a few ways they could all go. If it was a big show or they were just particularly into it, they’d let some fans back, do a little party thing. If they were so worn out, as was usual to the end of tour, they’d just go back to the bus or hotel and sleep for as long as they could. But it was always different. Ian and Spencer sometimes went out, escaping Zack for a few hours to find star struck girls to hang out with. Dallon would drink, he’d party, but he always ended up back first. He was one of those super perfect husbands that all the women hoped for as little girls. A prince charming. 

Brendon admired Dallon for his loyalty to Breezy. When they’d first started their on stage flirting games, Breezy had been more on board than anyone else. She loved it. And whatever that woman wanted, Dallon gave her. At first, it had been hard to think about for Brendon. He’d thought that Dallon only did those things to please his wife, but it slowly became obvious that he was doing it because he trusted Brendon and they were close enough for it to work with their friendship. He loved Dallon like a true friend and even if they practically fucked each other on stage, it was never something that hurt them in the end, not anymore. 

Of course…there was a time they never spoke about. When you live on a bus for months, going from hotel to hotel with the same people, shit happened. That was just how it worked. Brendon couldn’t even begin to explain the things he’d walked in on Ryan doing over the years. So adding new secrets with new band mates was expected. The secret he was thinking about just then was one that he’d recently been going over a lot. It was probably because of his concerns about himself. Or maybe the night he’d spent jerking off in that parking lot to Ian’s moaning was what brought it to the front of his mind again. Either way, it was intense and so heated; he hated to even imagine it with Dallon stretched out over top of him as he was.

It was just two months prior to that day. The show had been one he’d never forget, not that the internet ever would let him. He and Dallon had been at each other’s throats with the on stage sexual tension. But it had earned them so much love from their fans. Each time they were looking at each other, they’d smile, pleased with themselves. It had been a day that he’d managed to control himself so he was pretty damn happy. But there were moments when he thought he’d gone too far, pushed too hard. Dallon was different that night. Each movement, each act was almost strained. But Urie couldn’t tell if it was the lights flashing around that made him think this or if it was true. He’d found out later.

Usually they rubbed around, gotten so close they could kiss. That night, Brendon had started crossing some lines on their usual routine. He’d looked and touched. No it wasn’t the first time he’d put his hands on Dallon but it seemed different. More intense. It was the look in those blue eyes that had made him think so. Brendon, caught up in his own stage high, had pressed the palm of his hand firmly up against Dallon’s crotch. Now this on its own shouldn’t have meant anything since he did that sort of thing a lot, both to himself and the bassist. But that night, Dallon threw his head back and looked…well hot. Brendon tried to ignore it but the bassist didn’t seem to want to let him.

Dallon was on his knees, instrument pressed in behind his head. His hips were moving, circling and pressing forward in an obvious suggestive manner. Ian had slapped Brendon’s arm, pointing across the stage with a devious grin on his face. He’d turned then, following his guitarists gaze. Singing still, he tried not to laugh into the mic as he strutted his way over to the other man. Even on his knees, Dallon was damn near as tall as him. But that wasn’t the focus. Brendon leaned in to bring the mic between them. His intent was to let Dallon sing with him, as they often did. That wasn’t what happened. 

Ignoring the mic, Dallon pressed an open kiss to Brendon’s lips. And caught off guard, he’d returned it. The singer tilted his head, leaning into it to hide the bulk of the gesture from prying eyes. They’d shared small kisses on stage, just a quick puckering of the lips to get all those girls going. But this one was different. Dallon closed his eyes, pressing his mouth up against Brendon like it was going to save his life. And the singer could only return it for lacking of knowing what else to do. Then it was over. Dallon jumped back up and went back to playing. Brendon continued his song. 

That night though, Brendon was abandoned by Spencer and Ian, having decided he didn’t feel like drinking. The rigorous show had killed his energy and he’d wanted nothing more than to sleep it all off. Dallon was already gone, having vanished into the bunks moments after the show ended. That wasn’t unusual though. The bassist usually escaped to use the precious alone time to call his wife. He’d have to get over that early, he’d thought that night as he dragged himself onto the bus. Brendon didn’t hear Dallon’s voice or anything at all. Half curious as to where the other man was, he pressed through the door into their sleeping area. “Hey Dal…” where the only words the young male could utter before his question was almost violently answered.

Appearing as if out of nowhere, which was impressive for a man so large, Dallon pushed him. Brendon’s back had hit the door hard but not enough to hurt. But he was trapped. The older man was there, almost flush in front of him. One hand was pressed against the door, the other balled into a fist against his side. Brendon could still hear the shaking voice in his mind, even to present day. “Brendon…I need something…” It was just a simple sentence but it had sent a chill along his spine. He’d stood still, giving only a nod of his head in reply. It wasn’t that he’d been scared, necessarily, but something kept him frozen there between Dallon’s form and the wood of the door behind him.

But no real explanation came, not in the form of words anyway. His band mate groaned an almost desperate sound. Thrusting his hand down into the front of his black slacks, Dallon had started jerking himself off right there in front of Brendon. The singer was shocked into silence. His brown eyes went wide, afraid to meet the gaze of the man in front of him. He stayed still, palms pressed against the door. He was flattened there, afraid to move or do something wrong. Of course he really wasn’t sure what it was Dallon wanted from him at that point. But he thought now, he’d figured it out.

The other man pushed his pants open around his hips. He was exposed, right there in front of Brendon, no shame at all. His hand worked furiously, moving so fast, Brendon felt it jerking even with Space between them. Space that was closing fast. Dallon pressed his head against Brendon’s, forehead to temple. Every moan he made was right against the singer’s ear. If he hadn’t been so confused and terrified, he probably could have gotten off on it. But at the time he was lost. He’d stood perfectly still with Dallon’s breath puffing against his cheek, his body so close that he could feel the heat rolling off of him.

The memory echoed through his mind, loud and perfectly clear. “Aah…fuck Brendon…” came the bassists voice, hot and heavy against his ear. But that hadn’t been the focus of his thoughts then because something else tore at his attention. The other man called out and came. Brendon had jumped, feeling something hit his bare stomach. With flushed face, he’d looked down, seeing himself covered in Dallon’s release. There was a long pause, filled with heavy breathing. But when the orgasm came down for Dallon, panic took over. 

He’d pulled his own shirt off, using it to wipe away his shame from Brendon’s skin. Apology after apology filled the space between them. “Bren…I’m so fucking sorry…god you must think I’m a freak or something…” he’d said over and again. But Brendon had assured him that it was nothing. That he knew it was all about Breezy and shit. Nothing to worry about at all. And after that night, it was never spoken of again. Of course it took a few days for Dallon to get back to his old self but he did manage it. And things went on as usual. They fucked around on stage, they flirted in interviews. All the normal stuff. But Brendon wasn’t going to forget it and now, with his life crisis on full sail, he was finding it hard not to think about. 

It was then that he was forced from his memory by present day Dallon. Still, they were stretched out over the sofa together. The bassist’s weight was comfortably warm on his body and he’d thought it was all fine. But Dallon pushed himself up on one elbow, redness to his cheeks that made Brendon perk up a single brow. The older man glanced over at Spence and Ian, finding their attentions on each other. Leaning in, he spoke close to the singer’s ear, his words very hushed, clearly meant to be hidden from their band mates. “Pretty sure your dick’s trying to dig through my stomach.” He said. It was spoken like a joke, just a tease, but Brendon could tell Dallon was embarrassed. And now, so was he.

They sat up together, Dallon moving slowly. Even with the situation as ridiculous as it was, he was so much of a good friend that he moved in a way that allowed Brendon to hide his pretty obvious erection. From that point, Brendon was ready to just go back to the hotel. He leaned over some to Dallon who was now sitting against his side. “Sorry man. I’m supposed to call Sarah later…my mind wondered.” He lied. But Dallon bought it. A sly smile came across his face and he grinned at the other. “Sexy time for Bren and his lady. I got’cha.” 

So that night, lying as silent as he could, Brendon did not jerk off to Ian and some random girl. He didn’t even do it in secret. He was alone it he bunks, his cellphone pressed against his ear. From the device, Sarah’s voice carried over, speaking hushed and heated words. But it was not her voice or her pressing that got him off. It was the images from his memory. The huff of his friend’s breathing against his ear. And when he called out and came, it was all he had to keep from spilling Dallon’s name instead of Sarah’s. Sticky, wet, and entirely ashamed of himself, Brendon told his girlfriend how much he loved her and hung up. He’d barely hung up before cursing and punching the roof of his personal space. What the hell was wrong with him?


End file.
